Chapter 2: The Truth in the Rain
Victor heard the rain coming down outside the house, and he looked over his coffee mug to the old dog that laid, curled up in one of his doggie beds, this one on the kitchen floor. Feeling his master's eyes touch him, the poodle lifted his head for a moment, whined and thumped his tail on the soft fabric of the bed.
"Looks like no running for you today," Victor said conversationally, "I need to think, anyway."
He left the breakfast table and cleaned up the dishes, then he slipped a hooded poncho over his head, leaving the hood off so that he could prepare the playlist on his cell phone. He placed the phone in a protected zipped pocket on the inside of the poncho and put the hood on, then he left the house and jogged out into the rain. As he ran, listening to the music, his mind worked busily at the problem that was growing to nag at him more and more.
I've been thinking a lot about love recently. It's a theme that can be used in a million different ways. Over the years, I've used quite a few different themes related to love. But I just used something like that this season…Love's longing. I don't want to be repetitive.
God, this is pathetic, how much work it's taking!
He reached the end of the running trail and jogged down a street that wound around, rose up over a hillside, then led down to the beach. As he made his way down the curvy road on the hill, the wind blew under the front of his hood, spritzing his comely face with raindrops and finally throwing the hood back altogether. But, so entrenched in his thoughts, the Russian skater merely kept running down the hill and onto the deserted beach, as though rain wasn't quickly soaking his platinum blonde hair and leaking down through the top of the poncho, onto his clothing.
If I am going to use love as a theme, there has to be something about it that sets it apart from my other programs. I've shown different love situations…Deadly Love, Love on Wings, Matters of the Heart, things like that. Hmm…maybe something about the very nature of love, itself.
Shit!
I don't know. Maybe that would be too…
He realized suddenly that the rain was coming down harder and was leaking in where his hood had blown back, running down his body and soaking everything except his zipped up phone.
Oh, who cares. A little rain never hurt anyone. Should I use rain as a theme? No…too boring, although I could think of some great music for that.
Storms?
Gods Doing Battle?
Death?
Damn it!
His feet stopped and he looked out, over the crashing waves, into the grey skies. He remained that way, wearing a distant expression and pushing his mind to the brink, trying to think of something, anything.
"Vitya?"
"Fuck!" the skater shouted, nearly jumping out of his skin as he whirled to face his skating coach, "Yakov, what the hell? You almost scared me to death? And how did you know I was here, anyway? Are you with the goddamned mafia or something?"
"Stop fussing so much," the older man scolded him, "I know where you are, because you are predictable. Everything, down to you not minding your hood and getting soaked."
"What do you want, old man?" Victor complained, "I'm trying to think."
"It doesn't look like it's doing a damned bit of good either."
"Yakov!"
"Come out of the rain, Vitya. You're going to catch pneumonia out here with the rain falling all over you."
"I like the rain," Victor said petulantly.
"Huh," Yakov grunted, "See how much you like it when you are missing competitions because you get yourself sick doing this."
Victor turned back to face the crashing waves, not noticing the sympathetic look his coach gave him as soon as his head was turned.
"It will come to you, Vitya," Yakov said reassuringly, laying a hand on the skater's wet shoulder, "It always does."
"Not this time," Victor sighed, deflating, "Yakov, what if…?"
"Stop that," the older man chided him, squeezing his shoulder, "Everyone has times when it doesn't come easy. If this was easy, then anyone could do it. You have great talent. Trust me, you will find your story to tell."
Victor shook his head agnostically, but a faint smile touched his lips.
"You have to say that. You're my coach."
"And you are my star student."
"What about Yuri?" Victor asked, "He will win the junior championships. You know he will."
"Yes, but he is very young and way too cocky. We'll have to see what happens when he realizes that attitude will not help him upon his entry into the men's singles division. Yuri has a lot to learn."
"I do too," Victor breathed into the wind, "Yakov…"
The older man tugged suddenly on his arm, effectively distracting him and disrupting the onset of melancholy.
"Ack!" Victor yelped as his coach grabbed him and started dragging him towards a waiting car, "Yakov, what are you doing?"
"What am I doing? I am getting your stupid ass out of the goddamned rain so that you don't get sick before the competition!"
"You don't get colds and pneumonia from the cold!" Victor objected as Yakov hustled him to the car and shoved him inside, "You get them inside from germs passed around by other people or bacteria!"
"Look who knows so much," Yakov snorted, sliding into the driver's seat, "If you know so much, why don't you know how to keep the rain off of you, Vitya?"
"I know how," Victor sighed, sinking into the seat, "Where are we going anyway? I don't have practice right now and the interview was yesterday."
"We are going to the clinic," Yakov said, touching a button to lock the doors as he pulled the car away from the curb, "You need your vaccinations."
"What?" Victor yelped, scrabbling at the door, "No, I don't want to! I already had them."
"Well, it's time to update them," Yakov huffed, "You can't leave Russia and go other places to skate if you don't get them updated. You know that."
"But, I'm all wet," Victor complained, "I at least need to change my clothes."
"No way. You are not getting out of this car, except at the clinic," the older man chortled, "I'm not falling for that."
"But, I don't want to," Victor pouted.
"You're acting like a child," Yakov scolded him, "It's just a few shots."
"Oh, I guess that's nothing when you're not the one getting jabbed with sharp things!" Victor argued, "At least, after, take me to Lilia's studio, so she will give me sweets to make me feel better."
"We are not going to bother Lilia. You know she hates being bothered."
"Maybe, by you," Victor said, smirking, but she would never mind seeing her favorite almost son."
"You are not Lilia's son!" Yakov snapped, "And we are not going to bother her and get me yelled at."
"But wasn't it in the agreement to share custody of me when you two broke up?" Victor asked, blinking rain out of his eyes.
"Grrr!" Yakov snarled, "There was no custody agreement, because, first of all, you are an adult, even if you don't act like one, and secondly, you are not our son! Is our name, Nikiforov or Nikiforova? Why don't you go to your own parents if you want sweets?"
"That's not fair. They live far away. They can't spoil me from where they are."
Yakov gave Victor a sidelong glance, and his expression softened slightly.
"I never get to see them," Victor said defeatedly.
"You are a celebrity," the older man reminded him, "You know what that means."
Victor sighed and slumped further in the seat, cringing as they pulled into the clinic parking lot.
"It means I get stared at, never get to see my family, I have to smile all of the time and I get jabbed with pointy things whenever you can catch me and make me go," he answered sullenly.
Yakov climbed out of the car and opened the passenger door, then he waited as Victor scowled and complained, stalling as much as humanly possible while getting out. The old coach faced Victor and looked into his blue-green eyes quietly.
"You remember why you became a skater?" he asked, "You remember why I agreed to become your coach?"
Victor looked back at him silently.
"If you've forgotten, then maybe after this, we should go and try to remember together. Is that what you need, Vitya?"
Victor took a slow breath and let it out even more slowly.
"I haven't forgotten," he answered somberly, "The truth is, I don't know for how much longer I can…I need something, Yakov, and I don't know what it is."
Yakov gave him a stern look.
"I tell you what you need," he grumbled, "You need to get your ass into that clinic and get your vaccinations!"
"You're mean, Yakov!" Victor complained, but he grudgingly followed the older man into the clinic.
"This is Victor Nikiforov," Yakov told the receptionist.
"I'm not five," Victor said impatiently, "I can do it myself."
"Right this way, Victor," the nurse laughed, "We're all ready for you."
"It figures you are all in on tricking me to come here," Victor sighed, falling in behind the nurse as Yakov dropped into a chair in the waiting area.
Less than a minute later, the nurse returned, wearing a perplexed expression.
Yakov scowled.
"Again?" he said, shaking his head.
"He actually didn't faint until after the last shot this time," the nurse giggled.
"I don't know why I put up with him," the old coach muttered as he followed the nurse into the examination room.
He lifted the unconscious skater over his shoulder and sighed resignedly.
"I'm getting too old for his shit," he grumbled as he carried Victor out of the clinic and deposited him in the car.
He pulled his cell phone out of his coat and punched in a number, then waited as the phone rang.
"What do you want, Yakov?" his ex-wife's stern voice asked impatiently, "It better be important."
"Eh, Vitya passed out at the doctor again while getting his vaccinations," Yakov explained.
"Oh, poor boy," Lilia said, her tone softening instantly, "Bring him over. I'll have lunch waiting for both of you here."
She hung up before Yakov could answer. The old coach glared at his collapsed skater who laid across the back seat.
"It's your fault she left me, you know," he complained, "You caused all kinds of trouble, but the one who she always blamed for it was me."
He drove a little further in silence before stealing another glance at the unconscious skater.
"Eh, maybe you did me a favor…"
He pulled into the roundabout in front of Lilia's luxurious estate and stopped in front of the main house. As the car rolled to a stop, Victor stirred and brushed the hair away from his eyes. He looked around and broke into a wide smile as Lilia came out the front door to greet them. She grabbed Victor into a strong hug.
"Are you all right, Vitya?" she asked sympathetically.
"They poked me all full of holes!" Victor whimpered, "It was terrible!"
"It's okay. We'll get you something good to eat. You're so thin. Is Yakov being bad to you?" the elder woman asked, turning a displeased eye on her former husband.
"No, no, no," Victor assured her, "but I could use something sweet…to make up for the blood loss."
"Blood loss!" Yakov objected, "It was just a couple of goddamned vaccinations, not major surgery!"
"Would you stop yelling and swearing, old man?" Lilia nagged him, "You make me glad I divorced you."
"You didn't divorce me. I divorced you," the old man muttered under his breath.
"I should have gotten a better custody arrangement for you," Lilia said, caressing Victor's cheek, as though he was a child.
"He isn't even our son!" Yakov shouted.
"Come, come," Lilia purred, making Victor grin mischievously over his shoulder at Yakov, who snarled to himself and stomped into the house behind them.
Victor sneezed suddenly and Lilia took a closer look at him.
"What is this? Did he have you skating outside in the rain or something?" she asked accusingly.
"What? No!" Yakov exclaimed, "He was running on the beach and…"
"Out in this weather?" Lilia asked stridently, "No wonder he caught a cold."
"You don't get colds from being out in the rain," Yakov argued.
"Here, let's go and get you out of those wet clothes," the old lady clucked, loosening the buttons on Victor's shirt.
"You shouldn't be undressing him at his age."
"Well, you shouldn't be trying to kill him, making him practice out in the rain."
"He wasn't even practicing!"
"Ahem," an amused looking house attendant said, to get their attention, "Lunch is served."
"Go and put on a robe from the guest room. I think a few of your things are in there."
"Why do you have a collection of his clothes in your guest room?" Yakov asked dryly.
"He has to have a place to go when you abuse him too much."
"Last time I checked, I was his coach. I get paid to abuse him," Yakov joked.
"Not on my watch," Lilia said stubbornly.
"You know, I'm a little tired," Victor said, smiling at their antics, "Could I lie down and eat later?"
"I'll have it brought to your room," Lilia assured him, feeling his forehead, then kissing his cheek, "and I'll have my doctor come by. You feel like you have a fever."
"I'm sure I'm fine."
"No, you don't," Lilia said firmly, "You'll see the doctor. Go lie down."
Victor sighed and left the two arguing. But by the time he had reached the guest room, he heard their tone change. And before long, he heard a little bit of thumping, then Lilia's voice sounded again.
"We'll take our meal in my bedroom."
Victor snickered and dropped onto the bed, rolling onto his belly to look out the bedroom window at the falling rain.
I don't know why they got divorced. They fight a lot, but they always end up in the bedroom together. Though, I suppose that, to thrive, a relationship needs more than that, but who am I to judge? I have a string of failed relationships and I have no idea what to do to make one that will last.
He sneezed again and felt a little shiver go through him. A little foray to the closet yielded a warm robe, and he snuggled into the bed, sighing as the door opened and his meal was delivered to the room. He sat back against the pillows, eating and looking out at the falling rain.
Relationships are complicated. Five years have passed since my last, and I don't feel any closer to knowing what makes love endure. Is love that lasts the more innocent kind of love? Or is it wise and knowing? What is it that decides?
What?
Still filled with questions, he finished his meal, then laid down and fell asleep to the sound of the rain.
But just beneath it, he picked up the beginnings of an unwritten song.
Ah, maybe I'm not without inspiration.
Maybe there is some hope left.
